All these years
by alicewonder26
Summary: She's been hurt deeply by the one she loves. Can she move on?


AN: this was beta'd by glittergrrrl05 who is amazing and who I can't thank enough for lending me some of her time to look through this for me. I hope you guys like it! Enjoy!

All These Years

She sat in the darkness, the numbness filling her soul and body. She gazed at the door where he once stood, his figure straight and tall. Tears threatened to spill onto her tanned cheeks, and she was powerless to stop them as they made their salty tracks down her face. Her brown eyes were puffy and red from crying, and as she stood in the center of the darkened room, she wondered what she was going to do now. She glanced at the pictures that littered the walls, the many reminders that he wasn't here anymore. The happy faces seemed to remind her that what was, could never be again. The living room looked different as she observed it, probably for the first time, with new eyes. The empty spaces where his things once sat beside hers seemed so different. It had this unfinished feeling that she wasn't expecting to see, or feel. Yet as she clenched her hands into fists, her nails making rounded half-moon marks in her palms reminded her this was no dream.

As she unclenched her fists, the note dropped to the floor, reminding her once again why she was here. Why she felt this way. She'd already memorized his words, yet as her brown eyes scanned it again, a fresh wave of hurt and anger washed over her small frame. She angrily wiped the tears that slid down her cheeks, fighting to hold onto the anger. She couldn't let the sadness creep in. She let her feet take her up the staircase, past the white blank walls. She stopped at the doorway to the bedroom they used to share, and the neatly made bed seemed so out of place. Drawers were pushed in, yet remained empty and she stood in the dark and empty closet, the sadness once again washed over her in waves. She fought back a sob as she stood in the bathroom, instead wheeled out, letting her feet guide her back to the kitchen.

As she stood at the sink, looking out into her dark backyard, she spotted a color among the darkness. She picked up his gold ring, turned it over in her hands. She ran her fingers along the cold metal, marveling at how different it seemed now that he no longer wore it. The day she bought it for him sparked clear in her memory, and she wondered how it looked so dirty and dingy now, and how brightly it shone as she'd held in the palm of her hand. How bright and pretty it seemed as she'd slid it on his finger. It had come as a complete surprise to her, and she wondered how stupid she must have seemed.

She reached up for the cupboard above the stove, and her hands touched the cold glass of the Firewhiskey bottle. She pulled it down and stared at the amber liquid inside. She wrestled with her demons for a moment, considered what she was going to do. Finally, she sighed, reached for the crystal glass beside it, and filled the glass. She raised the glass to her lips as the tears traced the familiar path down her face and the liquid burn down her throat. The sadness dropped over her like a heavy net, trapping her. She decided that struggling wasn't worth it, and filled the glass again, downing it in one gulp. This time, she didn't wince as it left behind the burn. She lifted the glass again, then anger hit her, hard, and white hot. She threw it against the wall, the glass breaking and shattering on impact. Fresh sobs hit her, and she found her comfort in the now half-empty bottle. She raised it to her lips, willing the liquor inside to drown the feelings that rose up in her.

She knew she couldn't face him yet, knew that she wasn't up for much of anything. She sat in the chair in her kitchen, occasionally raising the bottle to her lips, finding some comfort in the silence. She finished the bottle, and, like a robot, reached for the other full one, mindlessly taking a drink. The liquor didn't burn anymore, but it drowned the pain, the fear, the sadness and especially the anger. Halfway through the second bottle, through her fuzzy haze, she heard the door open and shut. Heard the heavy footfalls, heard the chair scrape back. Her bloodshot brown eyes gazed up into the emerald eyes of her best friend. He saw the glass on the floor, and the half-empty bottle. He didn't say a word, just took her hand and led her to the bathroom, handing her a sober-up potion, which she refused.

She didn't want to be sober. She didn't want to feel the hurt that she knew would consume her body. His eyes brooked no refusal as he handed her bottle again, and she again pushed it away, taking another swig of the amber liquid. This time, she didn't fight him as he wrenched the bottle out of her grip and placed the purple bottle in her hands. She glanced down at the bottle, ran her fingers along the design, and took a swing, regretting it with every fiber of her being as she was engulfed in anger and sadness. She glanced at the bottle of Firewhiskey he held in his hand, and took it from his grip, throwing it against the wall of the bathroom., Letting the sobs rack her small frame, she fell forward onto the floor, letting the glass shards pierce her hands. Her blood ran crimson along the floor as he held her, rocked her back and forth, whispered words of comfort in her ear. For her part, she rested her head in his chest, soaking his shirt with her tears. He stood, wrapping his arms around hers and sat her on the toilet. He reached for the first aid kit, bandaging her hands. The sting of the antiseptic was almost comforting until she realized how she had cut her hands.

She sobbed until she couldn't any longer. She let him walk her out of the house, and down the block. She breathed heavily as he held out his hand to her, and she willed her emotions to settle. Once she felt alright, she wrapped her arms around his middle, and he held her close as he Apparated out of sight. They landed in his living room, and once she caught a glimpse of the picture of them on the wall, she lost it, but instead of tears, she felt rage. White hot and angry it coursed through her body. Her small fingers broke the glass with a sharp sound, the picture falling off the wall with a thud as it met the hardwood floor. A second picture met the same fate, and she yelled, screaming, fighting the tears. She felt his arms around her as she sobbed again. He led her to the couch, taking the glass out of her fingers. His voice broke the silence again, "I'm so sorry. I had no-"

She cut him off, her brown eyes piercing his green ones, her voice rough and scratchy, "don't give me that shit. You knew. Everyone knew. Everyone but me. Why? Why didn't you tell me?"

His eyes looked guilty as he finished, fixed on hers. "I don't know.."

She cleared her throat. "Bullshit."

She tried to rise, but he kept her seated. "I should have told you. We all should have told you. We didn't think he would leave you."

She rose from her seat on the couch, her voice angry as she spat, "You of all people should have told me. You've been here before."

He stood, "I realize. I came at once when I heard what he'd done. What are you going to do?"

She was silent a moment, wondering that very thing herself. She could do anything. She could sell the house, she could even leave the country, but she knew she would stay here. Yes, she hurt. Yes, she hadn't seen it coming, but she also knew she had to pick herself up and move on. A divorce was the first thing on her list, and without a word to her friend, she let that sensation of being forced through a small tube fill her again. She landed at the Ministry. . She filed the papers, got the best lawyer money could buy and, at his suggestion, cleared their joint bank account, taking all the money and placing it in her private one. She ignored the gossip, ignored the stares, the articles in the paper. One weekend she packed the small house and placed it on the market, moving her belongings into the house she now shared with her friend. He was supportive, helping her get through things emotionally. When they had court, he held her hand under the table, laced his fingers through hers, giving her his strength even as he glared at his former friend.

And just like that, it was done. Final. Her maiden name was restored to her and as she exited the courtroom, she was hoping to feel better, but instead, felt worse. For weeks she sulked, taking up drinking again, pouring herself into her work. He pulled her out of her stupor, reminded her she had so much to live for. As she got back in the swing of things, she still felt empty. Still felt the sadness and the anger. Months passed, and all too soon a year had passed and she hadn't changed. She still missed him, or rather, her marriage. He helped her to date again, guided her into realizing that she was still young, still desirable.

Many horrible dates later, as she cried on his shoulder, she saw him in a different light. For months, she wondered if she should let him know how she felt. Yet as she saw him in his relationship, she knew that to infringe on his relationship wasn't who she was. So she kept silent until one day, long after she'd moved out and found some sense of normal again, when she came upon him in a situation similar to hers so many years ago. It was his turn to sob, his turn to cry. His turn to drink Firewhiskey until he no longer felt the burn. His turn to break glasses, to break pictures and wonder why he was so blind. And as he cried on her shoulder, it was his turn to come to the same realization that she had so many years before. As he lifted his head, his bloodshot green eyes meeting her brown ones, he knew that there was no one who truly loved him and was there for him.

She stuck by him as he moved out, as he went on with his life, and made him realize that the saving grace was that he hadn't been married to her. He hadn't even proposed yet. A few months into living with her, he watched her work in her garden one late afternoon and did something he should have done years ago. He held her in his arms; he kissed her.

He made her feel special, feel loved. They started their lives anew. They had a happy marriage, children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren. The rain fell and she cried again, but this time for a different reason. She stood at the fresh mound of earth that covered his grave and sobbed. She knew that he was gone now, gone forever. He would never hold her and tell her things would be okay, never sit with her in the quiet silence, letting her stew in her thoughts. She felt a heavy hand on her shoulder, and glanced up into the eyes of the man who'd hurt her so many years before. He tried to offer his comfort, but it fell on deaf ears.

She gazed at the grave, and as she walked away, surrounded by her children, she knew that he was never truly far away. And months later, when it was her turn to go, she saw him waiting for her. He was young again, standing by the edge of her bed. He held out his hand, and she slipped away from this world into the next, grateful for the way her life turned out. Yes, she'd gone through hard times, she'd been hurt. But she was so thankful for him coming into her life. They'd made wonderful children together, held their grandbabies and great grandbabies. Loved greatly. Loved deeply. She had no regrets. Turns out, neither did he.


End file.
